


Bit by Bit

by greyscalemuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, M/M, johnlock implied - Freeform, shycroft, so much fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyscalemuse/pseuds/greyscalemuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Sherlock and John's wedding day, Mycroft and James finally meet. The rest, as they say, is history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bit by Bit

**Author's Note:**

> Behold! A short little Shycroft fic for the masses. The first few pieces were ficlets I wrote on the subject in Tumblr. I've strung them together and added a proper ending. This is all fluff, so be prepared for Mycroft and James to be effing adorable with each other.
> 
> Un-beta'd and Un-Britpicked, as to be expected with everything that I write.

The first time they formally met was at John and Sherlock’s long awaited wedding. Sherlock introduced them.

“James,” Sherlock released his strong grip on Mycroft’s elbow that had steered the older man over to James to begin with, “…this is my brother, Mycroft. The other best man…” Sherlock’s voice seemed to drip with overexaggerated disdain as he allowed them to exchange pleasantries. Sherlock lingered for only a half second before he nodded in his new husband’s general direction, “Oh look. I think John might need me. Excuse me.” And without wasting another moment, despite the heavily glares directed at the back of his head by his very irritated but still very available older brother, Sherlock sped off. Leaving Mycroft and James alone.

To chat.

Needless to say, it took a moment before the following silence was broken.

“Major Sholto…” Mycroft began, clearing his throat as he shot a look down to his fidgeting hands. “I know a lot about you…”

“Know? Not heard?” James inquired as he took a drink offered by one of the passing waiters, if for no other reason than to keep his good hand busy.

“A man like me knows things, Major Sholto. Especially if it involves my dear baby brother and any potential company he may keep.”

“Ah,” James nodded once, tilting his chin up a bit higher, smiling a little at the light threat. “Well… that hardly seems fair,” he took a sip of the fine tasting champagne, taking a moment to mentally praise what was undoubtedly Sherlock’s choice.

“Does it?” Mycroft’s hands settled, folded behind his back, for only another minute before they dropped to his sides again. James merely observed his body language with the smallest twitch of his lips before he hid it with another sip from his champagne flute.

“Absolutely.” James insisted as he caught sight of the happy couple – the dull pain in his heart lessening greatly, “I know next to nothing about you. Only what your dear baby brother has told me… which is… your his older brother and apparently his best man. Not much beyond that.”

“Yes… that sounds like him…” Mycroft scowled as he clutched his hand into a light fist, a reaction that was far more noticeable without his usual umbrella at hand. James caught the unconscious movement as he took another sweeping look over Sherlock’s often described as overbearing brother.

“Mm…” James set his drink onto one of the passing trays and watched it be carted off until he turned back to Mycroft. He tilted his head, “Seems quite unfair though… considering you know so much about me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Maybe you should level the playing field…”

“The… what?”

“… and tell me more about yourself. Without the shadow of your brother’s bias, of course.”

“I…” Mycroft stared, dumbfounded, as James’ rather polite smile turned to quite smug to downright near salacious. “I…” Mycroft stuttered again, sucking in a frustrated breath when he realized that his cheeks were turning slightly pink. “I’m not sure where I should begin with that.”

“You can begin wherever you like, Mr. Holmes.”

“Well…” Mycroft cleared his throat. “You can call me Mycroft… for starters…”

 

* * *

 

Their first conversation was being very closely monitored. John shot Sherlock a side glance and clenched his fist a little. “You realize… you’re setting up your brother… with my ex.”

Sherlock reached out a hand and grasped John’s tightly, running a finger along the band that marked the importance of the day. “And I don’t think that particularly matters anymore, do you?” he remarked that would sound quite dismissive to anyone but John.

John’s mouth twitched in a half second smile before he offered Sherlock’s hand a tight squeeze. “How do you know it’ll even work?” he asked with genuine curiosity, “Your brother’s even more opposed to a relationship than you were.”

Sherlock snorted. “Yes, and I just got married. So there’s hope for him yet…” he trailed a bit and tilted his head as he watched Mycroft’s usually stiff posture begin to slouch as he began to lean a little closer to James as the two continued to speak with only the minimal assistance of the alcohol provided to them. “Besides… as much as it pains me to admit it… we share certain… particular tastes.”

“What do you…” John trailed as he sorted through the number of meanings of those words. His eyes widened in realization before he looked back to see Mycroft actually crack a smile – the quick glance over, the slight shoulder squeeze, flirtatious gestures that seemed unnatural for the older Holmes brother to be executing so easily. “Oh my god… you’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

John made a face. “I really didn’t need to know that.”

“I was in a sharing mood.”

“I want a divorce.”

Sherlock pulled his lips into a wide smirk before he leaned in and whispered hotly in John’s ear. “I’ll make it up to you. Tonight. Obviously.”

John posed no arguments to offer.

 

* * *

  
Their first kiss happened that same night.

The number of guests at the reception had dwindled, only a few drunk stragglers remained. Mycroft and James had pulled two chairs away from the tables to sit across from each other without any obstacles between them. They had laughed. It had felt good.

And as the night wore on, the longer they talked, the closer their chairs came together. Until their knees were touching. Until they were at arms length. Until they could easily bump elbows. Until they looked up and realized that they were the last ones to leave - stuck in the middle of a clean-up crew that was trying to navigate around them.

When they stood, it was awkward. When they tried to part, it was worse. And when Mycroft gave in, leaned in, and kissed James on the cheek, everything was made infinitely better.

Only to become impossibly so when James moved his lips just a few inches to the left to capture Mycroft in a kiss that made the British Government completely crumble and seek support with arms wrapped around strong shoulders.

When they broke apart, eyes locked and searching, Mycroft cleared his throat and slowly pulled away. “I…” he faltered a bit on his own thoughts before he looked downward as he desperately fought for composure. “I haven’t… done this kind of thing in a very… very long time…”

The admittance carried so many things with it and James could only smile at each individual meaning as they came to him piece by piece. He reached out and very gently lifted Mycroft’s chin with his index finger. “Dinner, Mycroft…” he began. “At my place. 7 o’clock, tomorrow evening.”

“I… my schedule is full… I have meetings… and a conference call…”

“Make time.”

“Yes, but..”

James pecked Mycroft’s lips before he whispered. “Make time.”

And Mycroft could only whisper back, “Yes… yes, of course. I can arrange that…”

 

* * *

 

Their first time having sex didn’t happen as quickly as either of them thought it would.

They managed to hold out that first date – James had cooked, Mycroft brought wine – they ate and drank and chatted and laughed some more.

They avoided topics like the wedding, James’ friendship with John, and Mycroft’s familial obligations towards Sherlock – and you would think that would leave them nothing to talk about. But no. Somehow, they managed. They navigated through topics like books and music and history, be it the world’s or their own.

Mycroft learned that James was oddly sentimental about birthdays – that each member of his staff would receive personalized gift baskets with a card before he would immediately send them home to spend time with their family. James learned that Mycroft knew I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor by heart and could sing it quite well, but would only dance to At Last by Etta James – an admission that James wholeheartedly tested with positive results.

But no, their first time didn’t happen until their fourth date – when they were sober, at Mycroft’s flat, and unable to stop touching each other. Heated kisses lead to Mycroft in James’ lap, knees on either side of his hips, and his best fitting suit discarded and forgotten on the floor.

He moaned and gasped, control and composure breaking apart bit by bit as he rode James with languorous rolls to his hips. He gave into the desire to draw out each pleasured sound that could match his own, each noise carried on an exhale of breath he felt on his lips. They pressed their foreheads together, Mycroft’s fingers grasping at the back of James’ scalp, running through his hair just to push it out of place. And as their eyes occasionally met, they saw each thought begin to still and they allowed each other to feel.

For James, it had been years since he’d given in to physical impulses. It had been even longer for Mycroft. Yet here they were, the only thing keeping them grounded was the grip they had on each other, and even then that was barely enough.

They watched each other unravel before hitting their peak, falling off the edge and floating. They stayed stuck together, lips lavishing kisses against wherever they landed until finally, with great disappointment, they loosened their holds and fell away from each other.

As they collected themselves, with sweat sheen skin and labored breaths, they shared quiet laughter and small jokes. Mycroft pushed himself up onto slightly shaky legs and rooted around for his trousers, pulling on his pants as he found them.

James groaned in protest from where he still sat, just barely conscious. “What are you doing?”

“I need to find my phone. Lord knows what could have transpired in the past twenty minutes… besides… certain things are best kept from the human eye.”

James snorted before he reached out and caught Mycroft by the hand, pulling him back into his arms. “Shut up,” he chided, “You’re beautiful…”

He was rewarded with Mycroft’s cheeks staining a rather uncharacteristic pink before he cleared his throat before he tried to pull away, only to be held firmly in place. He tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes as James pressed kisses down his neck, breath hitching when teeth dug into skin hard enough to mark.

He had to choose a high collared shirt for the next day.

Sherlock, unsurprisingly, took notice.

Mycroft, surprisingly, didn’t care.

 

* * *

 

Their first love confession came several months later, as they laid in bed, recovering from yet another round of passionate and glorious sex.

Mycroft was blinking furiously to try to regain his thought process, something that hardly ever happened, and never enjoyed quite this much. “God…” he whispered as he caught his breath, chuckling a bit as he pushed himself off to the side to lay beside James, wrapping his arms around him. “I haven’t had this much sex since… I actually don’t think I’ve ever had this much sex, to be honest…”

“Really? So not many stories about various dalliances in your younger days?”

Mycroft laughed and shook his head, “No… I mean… there were a few in uni but…” he trailed a bit and rubbed his eyes for a moment, averting his gaze.

“But?” James prodded lightly.

“When your younger brother is Sherlock Holmes… you don’t have much time to think of such things…” Mycroft cleared his throat before he pushed himself up. James reached out, as he often did, to stop him.

“No. Come back.”

“James…”

“The world can wait for another hour. I would like to hold you. Come here.”

Mycroft relented, curling back against James and closing his eyes. James carded his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and whispered into it. “You did a lot for him…”

“I had to…” Mycroft shook his head. It was the first time they’d breeched the topic of his strained relationship with his brother since they’d started dating. “He… was always difficult. I was simply smarter because otherwise… he wouldn’t have survived. A mind that never stopped… he couldn’t cope with it the same way I could. He collapsed under the pressure…”

“And you had to be there to pick him back up?”

“Repeatedly. He was my baby brother… if I did nothing, he would have killed himself. Of course, my interference with his life led to resentment. I suppose my brand of help hindered his ability to understand consequences. Thankfully, John stepped up to correct that wrong…” he trailed off, wincing when he realize that he’d now breached the other topic that had been successfully avoided thus far. “Sorry…”

“For what?” James tilted his head, “John?” He sighed heavily, “John and I had too many problems between us. He’s happy. He deserves to be…” James pressed his lips against Mycroft’s temple, “And what regrets could I possibly carry when I’ve got you?”

The honesty James possessed always left Mycroft dumbstruck. He’d often find himself searching James’ face for some kind of tell that he was lying, that he couldn’t possibly mean what he was saying. But he never found it. Instead, he only found a smile that filled his body with warmth and comfort that he’d never thought he could ever possess.  
And that’s when he said it, that feeling that had built within his chest and pressed against his ribs in a way that bordered uncomfortable and brilliant. It slipped from him in a sigh and he was startled by the sound it made in his own voice.

“I love you…”

And his ears rang bells of celebration as James returned them back to him in a declaration of his own.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
